My friend, the musician, is hiding from violent forces, when all he’d like to be doing is teach and perform music.
Photo courtesy of the artist.
“My friend, I want to die decently in my bed. Of iron, if possible, with Holland linen. Do you not see the wounds I have from my chest up to my neck?”
(From Romance Sonámbulo by Lorca)
For the past months I have been communicating with a man whom I now call my friend (and who for security reasons I will refer to as HZ). A man whose passion for art tears through in every message he writes to me. A man who fiercely believes in the power of music and its healing capabilities. A man who, after years and years of living in limbo in hostile Afghanistan, experiencing torture and unjust imprisonment, waiting for the world to give a helping hand, still has hope in his heart that art and love will prevail.
HZ wrote a letter to the world, which has been edited for translation reasons and clarity and from which, fragments can be read throughout this article. HZ’s beautiful music can also be heard throughout the article.
“City Without Throbbing” by HZ.
My friend is not originally from Afghanistan but some years ago he escaped to there after being imprisoned and harassed by his own government in Iran. The only thing he did wrong, in the eyes of the powerful, was to voice his opinion. Using his voice, in public and in music, led to him being arrested and suffering unspeakable things in prison. War-torn Afghanistan, at that time, became a safer place for him.
Homeland is another name for displacement, displacement is another name for homeland.” Every day many lands are drowned in black waters, they die on the shores of Tunisia, they are shot at the border of Turkey, they are quarantined on the Greek islands, they dry in trucks like pieces of meat, and what is buried may not be displacement, but the concept and meaning of the name land, homeland. And it is the house that dies. Without a future, without a home, without a homeland, insecure, without bread and freedom, on the verge of death, the one who speaks to you is me, little Iran, another name for displacement. Maybe this is my last word for you, but I use it with the last bit of strength that I still have, a handful of words to shout in praise of freedom.
While in Afghanistan, HZ, a long-time student of Persian master Mohammad Reza Shajarian, started teaching music to children, especially to young girls. He established an all-girls choral group that performed hymns and musical theater and he collaborated with an animal aid center and the Afghan Literary Association. He further created cultural and artistic television programs and musical theater works with young girls.
All these activities were voluntary.
After years of fear and hiding, I throw away my fear and doubt and scream again and again. Because a person trapped in such a world has nothing to lose. I wish words were enough to explain the suffering of slaps, beatings, humiliation, cursing and all kinds of tortures and rapes in the prisons of Iran and Afghanistan for the crime of seeking freedom or looking to obtain a document for the right to live on such a large land. With this description, there is no escape other than taking refuge in this cry.
Today my friend is not that man. He is not teaching, but instead hiding. Not playing music, but instead quiet. Not creating, but instead escaping harm.
He is in a village that is not his home, but instead a refuge. The place that once was safer than his homeland, has now become uncertain grounds. After the Taliban reclaimed control over the country, a couple of years ago, he, as a musician and foreigner, is in grave danger.
One typical message exchange between us starts with me checking up on him, asking how it’s going that day. After his usual warm greeting, he sends back a photo of his bloody, wounded shoulder. He was attacked for simply wearing his homeland on his skin. Could have been worse if they’d known he was a musician.
Before I have lost my last strength to think and see and speak, I want to write about the death and psychological destruction of comrades, women and men, who perished under torture. I write about being humiliated in the streets. About sleeping hungry for weeks and being homeless. From being discriminated against because of my language, accent, type, and nationality, not only from a hostile people on the streets or authorities, but also from the people responsible for my refugee case at the United Nations. I am talking about unanswered letters to local, regional and global human rights officials. About being alone and awaiting death.
For years, my friend has been reaching out to people and branches within the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees). He has sent countless applications to organisations that help at-risk artists. But today he is, painfully, still waiting for help. Without being able to work, and thus without being able to attend to his wounds, his health is deteriorating fast.
There are countless others like him. Countless artists, dissidents, activists, who only wish to provide for themselves and their family and color the world with their beautiful creations.
“The fence of life” by HZ.
My friend tells me that he does not fear death, for he knows art will prevail. Sharing his songs and his story here is but only a small thing. Getting to know HZ has become a privilege for me; his optimism, his deep love for art, and his friendship has enriched my life. No one should have to suffer through the experiences that have been put upon him and any country should be so lucky to have him augment their culture with his music and teachings. If you, who are reading this, would like to help my friend further, so he can seek medical attention and, eventually, reach safer grounds, please contact me at halldor@shoutsmusic.blog or via Shouts’ social media.
But I didn’t say these words to find sadness. I write to keep the cry of protest alive. I have written so that everyone knows who are responsible for my death if I die. In the end, I shake the warm hand of my fellow sufferers and other wounded relatives, around the world, and I end my letter with this sentence of Forugh Farrokhzad:
After NATO Secretary General, Jens Stoltenberg, announced on April 14 2021 that the alliance had decided to withdraw its troops from Afghanistan, Taliban forces almost immediately launched an aggressive offensive against the Afghani government, quickly capturing the capital city of Kabul on August 14 that same year.
In an instant, life changed in the country, and musicians (and other artists) were among those in fear of attacks on their artistic expression and loosing their livelihood as working musicians.
Now, roughly two years into the second Taliban era, many musicians find those concerns to be true.
Faisal (far left) with fellow Afghan musicians, when they were still allowed to play music.
Faisal (whose full name we don’t use for safety reasons) is one of these artists. He has always believed that music could be a tool towards peace, harmony and love, but under the current circumstances he is forbidden from practicing his art.
When Faisal was a young boy, he heard something that moved him deeply. He described to me how he walked into a room, seeing a lady play an old Afghan song on the piano. He found the music and the whole encounter to be something very beautiful and comforting.
Finally the day came where he started learning to play the piano under the guidance of Mr. Haroon Halimi. Later he started playing professionally in collectives and bands such as Chakawak, Dawood Niga, West Youths and others.
Faisal performing in Afghanistan, before the Taliban takeover. Video sent to us by Faisal himself.
At a young age, Faisal was quickly establishing himself as a sought after pianist, for live concerts and studio recordings alike, and with his music playing he used to be able to support himself and his family. That is, before the fall of Afghanistan.
Faisal tells me that he believes all artists should have the freedom to practice their passion and make a living for their families. He hopes that by sharing his story he can help create a change in his country that, before the long conflict, was a colorful place filled with an immense amount of beautiful history and culture.
“I wish for a brighter future, where music can heal wounds, inspire unity and allow artists to freely serve their communities.
– Faisal, Afghan musician
For the time being Afghan artists must wait, in hope for things to change, and pray they don’t get hurt in the process. In solidarity, we can all pressure our own governments around the world to help relocate artists that are in particular risk for their lives.
If you are an artist at risk, in Afghanistan or elsewhere, there are several organisations which can possibly help in a variety of ways. Some are listed below.
France’s PAUSE: this program requires finding a host university or institution in France.
Safety and Risk Mitigation Organization: SRMO is offering psychosocial support and safety training for Afghan HRDs in the country and launching a website where individuals can access secure resources in real-time. Email: srmo.afg@gmail.com
Madre provides the following resources to Afghan Human Rights Defenders: Human rights violation documentation training, Relocation Guide, Resources Manual. Email hsaeed@madre.org.
To get in touch with the Afghanistan Human Rights Coordination Mechanism contact info@afghancoordination.org
In my attempts to connect with Ukrainian bands since the full-scale Russian invasion began on February 24th, several things have become clear. Many of these bands are well-connected to one another, and are largely one gigantic network of friends and companions, despite a sometimes cavernous distance between their tastes and styles of music. Given the current circumstances, this also means that safe havens in western and southern Ukraine have seen among the shifting tenancy of millions of internal refugees, many displaced musicians from all around the country, from Kyiv to Kharkiv to Odesa.
Another thing, too, has become clear: each and every one of them I have contacted has made reference to a little-known album that is quickly becoming a profound soundtrack to the ongoing horror and dread of Russia’s all-out assault on Ukrainian existence that has now spread into its fifth month.
This album of which I’m speaking explores themes of impending societal collapse, psychic destitution, viewing power struggles in a contested region from a birds’ eye view over years of conflict, watching your familiar life dissolve into destruction, taking inspiration from the tragic existences of poets whose lives were cut short, and feeling both the survival-insistence on your own identity as well as the unrelenting forces of dehumanization that can make living in a war such an unbearable paradox. On a conceptual level alone, these are strong themes that could elevate a well-executed albums to zeitgeist-status, but Kharkiv-based post-hardcore band, KAT, has reached another level with a razor-sharp 2022 offering that is poised to become one of the most essential albums of the year, in Ukraine and further afield.
KAT is Kyrylo Brener (guitar), Max Dukarev (bass, vocals), and Andriy Kasyanenko (drums). The band’s brand of post-hardcore finds that elusive balance so sought after in the subgenre: catchy and angular riffage executed with precision and a sustained tense atmosphere of exploration. A tight yet expansive sound, a haze of feedback and fuzz behind the driving basslines, guitar riffs reminiscent of the likes of Fugazi and Nirvana, and plangent vocals screamed or sung entirely in Ukrainian.
Not to judge a book by its cover, but the album art alone is enough of an invitation to know you are in the throes of a well-wrought and intentional work. The album cover shows what was once an opulent and lavish feast of exotic foods and indulgent ceremony that has decayed, over the span of several weeks, into a deeply atmospheric reckoning with the omniscience of decay—of beauty and richness dissolving into death and the kind of life that consumes death, while remaining equally mesmerizing in the process of degradation. In a sense, the first visual gesture of the album puts you in the right frame of mind to apprehend the music: that in dissolution you find beauty and strength; in rot, you locate the soul’s boundlessness; that in putrefaction, you insist on imagination and, yes, even joy.
But you will be hard-pressed to find joy in this album, and for good reason. KAT’s Bandcamp page dedicates the album as follows:
“These songs are dedicated to those who defend Ukraine from the Russian occupiers. These songs are dedicated to those killed in the war. These songs are dedicated to our ruined city. These songs are dedicated to everyone in Ukraine, because there is no person who wasn’t affected by the war. You can destroy our cities and kill our people. But it is impossible to break the will and the spirit.“
The band released the album during the peak intensity of Russia’s brutal, senseless invasion. And they recorded the album in a studio in a forest three hours outside of Kharkiv (Spivaki Records) that, since March, has been occupied by Russian soldiers.
To release an album during a war is no small achievement, and to have written an album several months prior that, across the board, is being described as prophetic in light of the past months of horror in Ukraine is nothing short of allegorical. Self-described as a small act not even very well known in Ukraine, Kharkiv-based post-hardcore trio, KAT, is making waves with their newest album, “Поклик,” which is the band’s first album whose lyrics were written entirely in Ukrainian.
Guitarist and primary lyricist behind this harbinger album, Kyrylo Brener, joined me via Zoom in Lviv—where he was watching NBA playoff games in a Green Bay Packer’s sweater and relocating to a room without windows as an air raid siren shrieked out in the streets—to discuss the band’s prescient and blistering new album, its context, and the reality on the ground in Ukraine.
NY: Where are you based now and what is the current situation like?
KB: Right now I am in Lviv, where I’ve been living since about mid-March or something like that. It’s the closest thing to normal life in Ukraine right now. Shops are open, you can go get a coffee, have a beer, take a walk, play soccer, for example. Usual activities are present here, and people are trying to live normal lives and get back to work. My bandmates left Kharkiv several weeks ago for southern Ukraine. They stayed in Kharkiv much longer than me, volunteering and helping out.
NY: Can you describe the experience of recording an album shortly before a full-scale invasion, and then releasing the album in the midst of it?
KB: To be honest, everyone in Ukraine had talked about the possibility of an invasion since about October, at least. Even then, it was really stressful to live in the kind of environment where you read the news every day and it says a full-scale war is probably going to happen in your country. Although, no one actually believed it would happen, to be honest. Everyone thought it was crazy, even for Russians, that they will not get anything from this.
We didn’t write lyrics about this specifically, but something, this feeling of global dread, was in the air. We started writing lyrics for this album in the summer of 2021. Usually it’s me who comes up with the idea and basic structure for the lyrics. Then Max, the vocalist, adjusts the lyrics to the rhythm of the song and his voice, so we work in a pair on the lyrics. This process took maybe 7 or 8 months. For the last couple songs, the lyrics were finished after we had already finished the instrumental parts. Those songs were more involved/affected by this feeling of dread. As 2021 went on, this feeling of dread became bigger and bigger. So when this war started, I listened back to these lyrics and thought of them on very much a different and deeper level. Some things I listen to and they seem prophetic, which is very strange to me since I wrote them and I don’t consider myself a poet. This is the first time that has happened to me, and I’ve been playing music for about 15 years. With KAT, in our previous albums we have tied to the themes of war and injustice, speaking of Russia-Ukraine relationships. Even the old albums, as I listen to them now, sound very actual right now to the state of things.
NY: Tell me about the recording process for the album.
KB: We went to a very beautiful record studio in the Kharkiv region. This studio is lost in the woods, about three hours by car from Kharkiv. It’s a very small village where you have basically five houses, no grocery stores, and among the woods you have this record studio and a second house where the owner lived. I don’t know how to describe it other than maybe the most beautiful experience of my life. You live in the studio in nature, and all of your time is spent talking about music, writing music, etc.
Why I wanted to bring this up is that this region is one of the most affected regions by war. Particularly this village and the nearby city of Izyum, which is a very strategic and important point for Russians. The area has become a heavy battlefield. We talked to the owner of the studio, and he basically didn’t respond for something like a month, and I was very glad to hear that he was alive. Currently, he is in Kyiv, but he said the studio is occupied by Russians and they are living in it. Taking into account that the battlefield tensions run high there, I don’t know if the studio will survive. I hope so, because I would say this studio is the best in Ukraine. Beyond the nature, they have very cool amps and gear in the studio. I just hope it will be fine, but with Russian soldiers there, who knows.
L-R: Kyrylo Brener, Max Dukarev, Andriy Kasyanenko. Photo retrieved from the band’s Facebook page.
NY: You mentioned that this album came into existence well before the war. Can you describe some of your inspirations behind this album, and where your art brain was at the time of its inception?
KB: In this album in particular, I went to a bookstore to buy two or three books from different poets, take them home and read them, and find inspiration. The initial idea behind this album, by the way, was to dedicate it to dead poets. Not just Ukrainian poets, but dead poets around the world. Because usually poets are people who have, let’s say, interesting or tragic lives. Often they die young, many of them have mental health issues. It’s interesting to see the context behind the lyrics, behind the poem. It’s not just the words, it’s the person behind them. You can always understand their word choice better when you know that.
The first song, “The Letter, was inspired by Vasl Stus. He was a very famous poet here. As I said, he had a very tragic life. In the 80s, in the USSR, he was a Ukrainian-speaking poet, a nationalist in the good sense. He was very much oppressed by the government, and eventually he was sentenced to 20 years or something in the gulag, where he died. For our people, he became this symbol of struggle against the Russian government. Once in the bookstore, I bought a book of Stus’s letters to his son. It was just a collection of letters he sent to his son from the gulag. I imagined a copy of a letter he might send to his son, and these are the lyrics of that song, “The Letter” (Лист).
A couple songs were also inspired by the Polish poet Rafał Wojaczek. Again, it was a coincidence that I bought a collection of his poems in the bookstore. He also died very young, 24 or something. He had some issues with mental health and alcohol addiction. The themes of the album are about Ukraine, fighting for our identity, this war with Russia that’s been going on, but in some lyrical way, many of the words and sentences I wrote were inspired by his poetry. The song about the Donbas, “Атлантида” (Atlantis) was inspired by movies. Throughout our whole career as a band, almost all the lyrics I’ve written were either inspired by poetry or other books. For example, our album “Guernica,” was inspired by the famous Picasso painting after the bombing in Guernica during the war in Spain. My idea was to take some parts of this enormous and complex picture, and try to represent them in the song. At the same time, we tried to talk about Ukraine in this song. War is probably very similar everywhere; anyone who has lived through a war can understand the experiences of people in war.
We have a close friend in the city of Chernihiv, which was hugely bombed by Russians in the first month. He was in the city the whole time. He hid, he didn’t have enough food, didn’t have hot water. He’s fine now and the city is not occupied. He said that once he got internet, he listened to our album, Guernica, and he said he felt each and every song deeply because the lyrics are about bombing and surviving bombing. Of course, when we wrote this album five years ago we had no idea that this would be the case with the album in real life.
To be honest, I never really want to write about stuff like that again. I would concentrate on something different on our next albums. I think we’ve said enough. Maybe we need to focus a little bit on something else other than war and dehumanization.
The album cover of Поклик, the band’s latest release.
NY: Can you talk about some of your personal experiences relating to the war?
KB: In my work, I had a coworker from Mariupol. I remember we discussed with him the state of things before February 24th. We were all kind of scared, living in Kharkiv and Mariupol, thinking we probably need to move somewhere. Then when the whole thing started, he was unable to move in the first days, and then it became very dangerous. No one could guarantee that you won’t die, that’s just the truth. I was in Lviv, it was middle of March I think. He called me from Mariupol with a very bad connection. He got my number and said “I’m fine. Tell the guys at work I’m still alive.” But he said that it’s hell, a total nightmare: people are drinking from puddles because there is no water and starting fires in the streets because they have to cook some food, all during the bombing and missiles. There are so many corpses in the street, and no people to bury them. He said, “I don’t know how to escape, maybe I’ll escape through Russia.” There is a chance to escape through Russia for people in eastern Ukraine who have a lot of relatives in Russia. For example, I have a lot of relatives in this country. That was the last time I heard from him. To this day, I don’t know what’s happened to him. Maybe he escaped to Russia, maybe he died, we don’t know.
I have relatives in St. Petersburg, and through the last 8 years, they were really pro-Ukrainian. They mentioned to us that things are very bad in Russia, especially, for example, you can see it by how they treat kids. The daughter of my uncle, she’s 9 or 10. The last thing my uncle told me is that in the school her teachers had her write an essay or a letter of support to Russian soldiers. Absolute propaganda. They are afraid to post this stuff and say anything online, too, so they are thinking of moving to another country.
A second example, a very different example, is my aunt, my mother’s sister. They live very close to Kharkiv, like two hours away by car in Russia. And even before the war, she called my mother and said she’s seeing a lot of military stuff going on in her city, building a hospital for soldiers, etc. She was very afraid and terrified. At the same time, she is under the Russian propaganda, trying to tell us we have Nazis here. My mother told her, “What are you talking about? You think we’re Nazis?!”
Kharkiv is a Russian speaking city. There are some historical reasons—it wasn’t always like that—but anyway, at this point in time, about 90% of people in Kharkiv are Russian speaking, and no one had been oppressing them. I’ve switched to Ukrainian sort of as a protest to what’s going on. I consider Ukrainian my native language, but either way, I identify with both languages, and no one here was in any way oppressing Russians. Not at all. You could speak Ukrainian or Russian, whatever you want. My aunt told us we have some Nazis and that Russian speaking people in Ukraine are being oppressed, and we just said, “Who do you believe, your relatives or the television?”
It’s very surreal when your relatives don’t believe you. I don’t know how to explain that. In the first days of the full-scale war, we tried to convince people we know in Russia about what’s going on. And already, a lot of shit was put in their heads, and I don’t even know how to turn them away from it. They can call you and say, “We are so worried about you and terrified, and we just want peace,” but at the same time, they can say things like, “But you have Nazis in Ukraine and NATO will only oppress Russia.” They can say all kinds of shit, but it is so exhausting that I don’t even want to argue about this right now. To be honest, I don’t speak to them anymore.
At the same time, I discuss all these things with many of my friends… For example, Russians who are consuming this propaganda, just like Trump-supporting people believing everything Fox News says—they don’t have a right to not have information. We don’t live in North Korea. You can choose the source of your information. So if you’re watching, say, Fox News and a bunch of pro-Trump shit, that’s the choice you made. If you’re Russian, if you listen to your state-sponsored TV station, you chose to do that. And you can choose the opposite. You can read different sources. Even in Russia, there are different sources. There is a choice. The problem is that these people don’t want to, and now we have this situation.
None of this will go away for many generations. Definitely not in my generation, probably not even in the next. This hate toward Russia will grow, and will be—I don’t even know how to explain it. And, again, for what reason? Russians now occupy, like, three regions in Ukraine, and not even the whole region. There is so much loss and devastation on both sides. For what reason? There is none.
NY: How do you see Ukrainian art and music and culture evolving after this war?
KB: Every great tragedy brings great explosions in culture. You can see it in Germany after World War II. We can see it in history after all wars, really. This huge trauma for all generations needs to be relieved in some way. You need to express yourself and your feelings. If we can understand we can live in a peaceful country, we will see a great growth in the music scenes in Ukraine. The difference now is how connected is our global society.
I agree that lots of musicians will switch to singing in Ukrainian. No one, NO ONE, will keep singing in Russian, that’s for sure. A lot of bands will also switch from English to Ukrainian. Starting from this point in time, our bands will switch to Ukrainian, I am pretty sure. We will see a lot of great bands and great albums. Especially if the west will put some money not just into the economy of Ukraine, but also in cultural stuff—some grants, some clubs, stuff like that. This will also help bring young people into music. Bands like us, guys in our 30s, will continue expressing ourselves and what we went through during this time, too. So, I expect growth all around.
NY: What kind of toll has this situation taken on you and your family?
KB: Psychologically, I am always asking myself, “Why me, why am I here and not there?” At the same time, everyone said that if you can work, work, because the economy is struggling right now and it helps when people can pay some taxes, because so many people lost their jobs when the war started, like my parents. They both lost their jobs and moved away from Kharkiv. I’m very far from them. They don’t have any money, so I’m supporting them and a couple other relatives from Kharkiv. Still, you can’t help but think, “Why are there some people hiding in shelters and I’m sitting here with my laptop drinking coffee?” It’s always a battle inside your head.
Everyone in Ukraine, everyone in the safer areas, knows what I’m talking about. What everyone is saying, including the therapists, is, if you can, live your life, because if you’re living your life, you can help. You can help the army; you can help refugees. I am a lucky person because I have an IT job that I can keep working at. A lot of people, whole families, have moved and don’t have any money or any things and are living in huge shelters for refugees. They don’t have food, and can’t go to the store to buy any. They go to places where volunteers give food out. If you can help, then that’s very good. Everyone here in the western part of Ukraine, the safer parts, are trying to help as much as we can on different levels.
I would not say that what is happening right now is fueling my creativity process, but I am feeling the need to express this experience and these tensions somehow. Right now I’m trying to put myself into some sports activities that relieves the stress. I am jogging, and listening to music, and as for now, I’m okay. Obviously I want to play music again, I want to write new songs. I don’t expect to return to Kharkiv in the near future. Maybe the guys will move to some other city closer to me and we can at least play together again. It’s hard to predict right now.
NY: What, if anything, would you like to broadcast to the rest of the world about the current crisis in Ukraine?
KB: We are all used to the idea that you can die right now. There is a chance. In some cities the chance is low, and in some it’s high. So we have to think about it in a pragmatic way, and just need to know that that can happen. That’s why I really hope and pray, not that I am a religious person, that every one of my friends and relatives will be safe and we will see the end of the war. That’s the main thing for us right now.
Sometimes I look at our planet and our societies and I don’t have any faith that we actually have the humanity. But to the world outside of Ukraine watching or reading about what is happening, just try to think about what’s important in life, and what it means to be human and a part of a global society. That’s it, really.
It’s horrifying, seeing what is going on in this war, and walking on the street thinking that people, any person around me, could do this harm to another person. I don’t know why there is so much evil and hate and cruelty inside of people. I can see it; it tears me apart, and I don’t know how you can cure those people. I can’t call them people, and I can’t call them animals because animals wouldn’t do this.
When you imagine this victim could be your girlfriend, your mother, your friends, your brothers… We need to think again about our planet and our society and why in 2022 we have this stuff happening. Of course, there are other wars and lots of people suffering. Sometimes you feel like you don’t have any power to influence, and have to focus on small things that can influence the life close to you. That’s all we can do as small persons, so let’s do at least that.
Kyrylo, it’s been an honor and a pleasure to have this conversation with you. Thanks for being part of Shouts!
Thanks so much for this talk. It was really great to meet you and discuss these things, Nathaniel!
